The Guilty Wife

by Elle Croft

Genres: Romantic Suspense; Crime Fiction

Synopsis

WIFE. MISTRESS. MURDERER.

If you were being framed for murder, how far would you go to clear your name?

The debut psychological thriller that reads as Apple Tree Yard meets Behind Closed Doors, by way of Double Jeopardy.

I'm not guilty of murder.

Bethany Reston is happily married. But she's also having an affair with a famous client.

And no one can ever know.

But that doesn't make me innocent.

When Bethany's lover is brutally murdered, she has to hide her grief from everyone.

But someone knows her secret. And then one day the threats begin.

With an ever-growing pile of evidence pointing to her as the murderer, the only way she can protect her secrets is to prove her innocence. And that means tracking down a killer.

An incredibly taut, tense game of cat and mouse - with a twist you'll never see coming.

Release date: December 1, 2017

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 320

Sample

Chapter One

‘This is how Monday evenings should always look,’ Calum announced, reminding me how different the world appeared to someone with no financial limitations.

I smiled and rolled my eyes, but couldn’t help agreeing with him.

I was wrapped in my thickest scarf, the lingering warmth of the day not quite defending itself against the chill that cut through the evening air. We’d spent the last moments of sunshine basking on Calum’s terrace and drinking in the view of London that spread out before us. When I turned my head I could see the top of Big Ben, his famous face peeking out across the tree line, surveying his city as it came alive in the unseasonal warmth. I’d suggested a walk, but Calum had shaken his head. No public outings; one of his many precautions. Instead, he had grabbed me by the hips and lifted me high, a figure-skater move that had elicited a squeal of surprise, and when he’d thrown me on his bed all thoughts of a walk had been swiftly forgotten.

Now he was running his thumb lightly across the back of my hand, watching with amusement as two sparrows bravely took it in turns to hop closer and closer to our table, daring one another to steal stray crumbs.

I smiled contentedly as I took in Calum’s tousled hair and his shadow of dark stubble. He had the air of a man without a care or responsibility, not someone with an enormous company and a public persona to maintain. His forehead was for once uncreased by the frown that usually darkened his face and made his staff worry constantly that he was angry.

Noticing my gaze, he turned towards me, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. Suddenly shy, I couldn’t stop the warmth that began creeping into my cheeks. I felt silly for reacting that way, but however much I promised myself I’d stay cool in his presence, there was nothing I could do to stop it.

‘You’re so cute when you blush,’ he said, and the heat spread to my chest.

‘Stop it,’ I pleaded. ‘You know that just makes it worse.’

He laughed, and pulled me onto his lap.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered in my ear.

‘Well, that doesn’t stop you from teasing me every time it happens.’

‘I can’t help it. You make it too easy.’

‘I wish you had some kind of flaw I could tease you about.’

‘It’s not a flaw,’ he said, kissing my cheek. ‘I think you look beautiful, even when you’re embarrassed. And trust me, I’m far from perfect. You just don’t see it yet.’

I laughed and leaned back, allowing myself to be lulled by the slow rise and fall of his chest. He ran his hand lightly up and down my back in a gentle rhythm as we stared at the park being drenched in the golden hue of a dying day.

‘Oh,’ I said suddenly. ‘I almost forgot.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Your present.’

‘Ah,’ he replied, raising an eyebrow.

I rummaged for a few seconds in my bag before handing Calum a tiny silver box tied with a blue ribbon.

‘Happy birthday,’ I said, kissing him lightly. ‘I’m sorry it’s so late, but … well, I haven’t really seen you—’

‘I totally understand,’ he interrupted. ‘Besides, I love an extended birthday.’

I watched him struggling with the knot I’d spent so long perfecting that afternoon, and mirrored his own mischievous smile when he lifted the lid.

He pulled the small black piece of plastic from its bed of tissue paper and leaned over to kiss me.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I love it.’

‘Well, you haven’t even seen what’s on it yet,’ I joked. ‘It might just be a memory card full of puppy pictures.’

‘I do love puppies. But probably not as much as I think I’ll love what’s on here.’

He kissed me again, but after a few seconds I pulled away.

‘Calum,’ I said, serious now, ‘I know we’ve already spoken about it, but you really have to make sure no one sees these. Please promise me.’

‘Bethany,’ he said, his tone gentle. ‘I would never show anyone, but are you sure you’re comfortable with this? I know it was my idea, and I also know it’s not the sort of thing you’d usually do – or the sort of thing I’d do, for that matter. So if you want me to get rid of it, we can just forget about the photos.’

The photos are the only gift I could possibly afford, I thought. What do you get the man who, quite literally, has everything? A steamy photo shoot featuring the two of you, apparently.

I studied his face, trying to decide if he meant it, if he really would destroy the memory card just because I was uncomfortable. But it was so difficult to make rational decisions when his eyes were fixed on me. That gaze was completely disarming.

‘No, of course I don’t want you to get rid of it,’ I said eventually, meaning it. ‘It’s just not something I’ve ever done before. And anyway, I’m more confident being behind the lens, not in front of it.’

‘Well, I thought you made an excellent model. Have you considered a career change?’

‘I have, but I like burgers far too much.’

‘You could have fooled me. With a figure like that, I’d have thought you lived off lettuce.’

Calum got up and reached for my hand.

‘Come on.’

I laced my fingers through his and stood, following his lead towards the door. We walked in silence into his apartment, past the bed where the illicit photos had been taken and across the room to his desk, almost hidden in the furthest corner. He reached for a book on the second shelf and opened a drawer, which he rummaged through for a few seconds. He handed the book to me and I stared at him, waiting for an explanation. Not receiving one, I turned it over, then flipped through the pages. Nothing.

‘A business self-help book?’ I asked. ‘Am I missing something here?’

He smiled, taking the book from me, and flicking to the back cover.

‘Can you give me a piece of that please?’ he asked, passing me a roll of tape.

I complied, frowning in confusion.

He stuck the memory card to the rectangle of tape I’d given him and secured it to the inside of the book’s cover. Replacing it on the shelf with the rest of his serious non-fiction, he turned back to kiss me again. This time I kissed him back.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘No one but us will know it’s there.’

‘Thank you,’ I whispered.

‘You’re welcome. And trust me. No one wants to keep our secret more than I do. Those photos are safe with me.’

Chapter Two

My husband reached for my hand as we stepped out of the Tube station and were greeted by the buzz of after-work revellers. Bars and pubs crawled with drinkers who had spilled onto the streets and lined the narrow pavements. There was a tangible excitement in the air, a ripple of electricity caused by the spurt of warm weather that had brought Londoners out in droves, despite it being a Tuesday night.

I felt a pull to join in the springtime festivities, to soak up the warmth of the evening, but instead, I took his hand and wrenched the heavy wooden door open. We blinked away the sunlight as our eyes adjusted to the darkness inside the restaurant.

I tried to stay focused on the conversations that unfolded during our meal, but I was relieved when we waved our friends goodnight and their cab turned the corner to disappear from sight.

Jason curled his arm around my waist and I leaned into him, glad that it was just the two of us again. He kissed the top of my head.

‘Home?’

‘Home,’ I said, smiling up at him.

This probably comes as a surprise, given what I’d been up to the previous afternoon, but Jason and I were, by all accounts, happily married.

I was in love with my husband. Always had been, really. Ever since the morning after I met him, in our first week of university. We’d been introduced at a party, the kind where there was lots of drinking, and lots of dancing. I’d foolishly worn a pair of brand-new heels, and by the end of the evening I was hobbling ungracefully on bleeding feet. The next morning when I dragged myself out of bed to take a shower, I tripped on a small blue box that was sitting in the hallway outside my door. Inside was a packet of blister plasters and a can of Coke, along with a note that said:

For your hangover. And your heels. I hope to see you again soon. J

We were official within days. He was my first serious boyfriend, and the only man I’d ever loved.

Until now.

Somehow, without meaning to, I’d found myself having an affair. An act of betrayal that I never imagined myself capable of. And to make matters even worse, the affair wasn’t just about the sex. I really cared for Calum.

I hadn’t fallen out of love with Jason. How could I? He was everything I could ask for in a husband. Supportive, handsome, loyal.

The opposite of me. I was a liar. A cheat. An adulterer.

And in love with two men at the same time.

Chapter Three

‘Here, try this.’

Calum reached across the counter, holding a spoon out towards me. I leaned over and took a sip of the sauce that he’d spent the past half-hour perfecting.

‘Wow,’ I exclaimed. ‘That tastes incredible.’

‘Didn’t I tell you I could cook?’

‘You did. And I’m truly sorry that I didn’t believe you.’

‘It’s OK,’ he said lightly. ‘For dessert I have a really nice slice of humble pie for you.’

I laughed and tried to flick him with the tea towel, but he moved away too quickly.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?’

‘You can sit right there and relax,’ he replied. ‘Dinner won’t be long.’

‘I think I can manage that,’ I said, closing my laptop. I’d been trying to review a week’s worth of photos since I’d arrived at Calum’s apartment for our meeting, but it was no use trying to concentrate when I was with him.

‘Actually, can you do me a quick favour?’ Calum asked.

‘Of course,’ I said.

‘It’s getting warm in here. Could you open the sliding doors? We can eat over by the lounge so it’s a bit cooler.’

A fresh spring breeze accompanied our meal, which was an impressive dish of lamb chops and fried potatoes, all perfectly cooked.

I had just mopped up the last of the sauce on my plate with a warm bread roll when Calum’s phone buzzed violently on the table. He snatched it up and I gathered the plates to take back to the kitchen.

I was scrubbing a frying pan, my arms covered in soap suds, when I felt Calum’s hands curling around my waist. I smiled.

‘Stay,’ he whispered into my ear.

My smile dissolved.

‘What?’

‘Don’t go home. Stay the night.’

I turned around to face him, expecting a playful wink, but he looked serious.

‘I … well, aside from a whole bunch of other obvious reasons why I shouldn’t, including how I’d explain it to Jason, what would you say to the security guys out there?’ I waved towards the door as I dried my hands, pan forgotten.

‘I can give them the night off,’ he said. ‘They’re not prison guards.’

‘OK, fine, but we’ve talked about this before,’ I said. ‘It’s one of your paranoid rules.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you it’s not paranoia, Bethany?’

I sighed, and walked back to the table to collect the salt and pepper grinders.

‘I get it. You feel bad about Kitty.’

I couldn’t help but frown as I thought about the woman Calum had been seeing before me.

‘I don’t just feel bad about Kitty,’ he said. ‘I will never, ever forgive myself for what happened to her. It was my fault that she was attacked. I was the one who insisted she told the police about the stalking, and the threats she was getting. I was trying to protect her. If anyone had told me then that the cops would be the ones to leak our affair to the press, I probably would have called them paranoid, too. But it’s not paranoia if it’s true. The police were the only ones who knew about us, and the day after we told them, she was all over the news. And then she was attacked, and her whole life was ruined. I wanted to help fix things, but she wanted nothing to do with me. She hates me, and I don’t blame her. Because all of it was my fault.’

His voice quavered, and I shifted my weight uneasily.

‘I have to deal with the guilt of knowing I caused that, but I couldn’t live with the responsibility of anything happening again. Not to you. All it takes is one news story for everything to go crazy, so please don’t call me paranoid again, OK? You don’t know what it’s like. This system I use? It’s for you. For your safety.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said gently. ‘I really am. I do understand, honestly, and I appreciate it. It’s just … frustrating sometimes.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I just don’t want you to lose sight of why we have to do things this way.’

‘I won’t. I promise. But I really can’t stay, as much as I’d love to. I have to go home to Jason. And besides, I thought you said Claire was back later.’

‘I thought she would be too, but she sent me a message,’ he said, reaching for his phone.

He tapped the screen a few times and then read, ‘“Won’t be home tonight, darling. Still with Red Ferrari.”’

‘She’s with a car?’

‘Not a car.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a nickname for the man she’s in California with; she doesn’t tell me their real names. Plausible deniability or something. Last month it was Guitarist Five. She has a thing for musicians, apparently.’

I blinked, trying to decide if he was playing with me, but there was no hint of a smile, no telling spark in his eye.

‘How can that not bother you, Calum? I mean, why do you even stay together when both of you are sleeping with other people? How can you call that a marriage?’

‘Judge much?’ he replied, his tone measured, a reined-in sort of anger. ‘What makes you so much better, when you’re sleeping with me? At least Claire and I have the decency not to pretend to be something we’re not.’

I mentally clutched for words.

‘Decency?’ I finally blurted out as he walked a few paces away. ‘That’s what you call it? So as long she tells you she’s cheating then it’s totally fine. And what about you? You’ve not told her about us, so how are you so superior?’

Calum turned around, his face steely. He moved towards me and stopped when our faces were too close, his expression making me squirm uncomfortably.

‘Bethany,’ he said slowly, looking me directly in the eye. ‘What Claire and I choose to do in our marriage is none of your business. She and I love each other, just not in a way that you find … palatable. We’ve found a way to make our marriage work for both of us, and just because it doesn’t fit into your little idea of what a relationship should be, you immediately get all self-righteous and judgy. Claire and I are honest with each other. We have an understanding. Boundaries. We’re open with each other and we’ve discussed the way we choose to operate our marriage in great detail. She doesn’t want to know if I’m sleeping with someone else, and I respect that.’

He was talking with his hands now, voice rising, brows meeting at the bridge of his nose.

‘You, on the other hand, you act like you’re just an innocent girl who never meant for anyone to get hurt, but what you’re doing is deceitful and malicious. You’re not honest with your husband, you’re lying to him. You’re waiting for life to make your decisions for you rather than knowing what you want and owning that choice. If you don’t want me to judge you and your decisions, then you can’t judge me and my marriage. You’re not pure, you’re not a victim here, and I won’t be criticised. Not by you. Not when I thought we understood each other.’

I stood, slack-jawed, not sure what to say. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, but still simmering with anger.

‘We’ve both got flaws. I just thought you’d accepted that.’

My cheeks burned with the humiliation of being berated, and his angry face wobbled through the tears that suddenly stung my eyes. I wanted to scream, to defend myself, but I knew that if I opened my mouth the only thing that would come out would be a sob. He wasn’t going to see me cry.

Saying nothing, I spun around and walked towards the door, blinking furiously to stay my tears.

‘Come on, Bethany,’ he called from behind me, but I was already halfway across his apartment. I expected to hear footsteps following me, but the only noise that reached my ears was my own staccato breath.

I hauled my bag over my shoulder, shielded my pathetically watery eyes with sunglasses and stormed out of Calum’s apartment, pulling the door forcefully. But the door, obviously designed to neutralise such dramatic exits, slid silently back into its frame without so much as a click.

The security guard barely glanced at me as he pressed the button on the wall, and we waited side by side in excruciating silence. I managed a tight smile as the light flashed, then hurried into the elevator. When I reached the ground floor I power-walked across the over-the-top lobby, head down, before exhaling into the evening air.

Crossing the road, I stepped into Kensington Gardens, tears suddenly flowing and hiccuppy gasps escaping from the depths of my lungs. I was a mess, but at least I was an anonymous mess; just another crazy person littering the streets of London. My crying barely drew a second glance.

I didn’t want to join the throngs of tourists and office workers who were soaking up the last moments of sunshine. I needed to be alone, to bathe in my self-pity away from such palpable joy. Wiping my nose on the back of my arm, I walked purposefully towards my favourite part of the park, a flower garden near the Albert Memorial. I could never explain why I loved the depressingly gothic structure that had been built by Queen Victoria. It was somehow meant to prove her love for her dead husband, but it looked more sinister than romantic.

Finding an empty bench engulfed by a tangle of yellow and pink roses, I carefully turned Calum’s words over in my head. Malicious. Deceitful. Self-righteous. Each of his accusations smarted like the smack of a gavel.

He was right. I knew he was. But that didn’t mean I was willing to hear it.

I knew the situation I was in hadn’t just happened – affairs never just happen – but it felt like one day I was happily married, innocently getting on with my life, and the next I was in love with another man. How had I let myself get into this mess?

Since I’d assumed the role of Mistress, I’d been refusing to face the decisions I inevitably needed to make. I’d ignored my conscience as it tugged like an impatient child, begging for attention while I declined to acknowledge its existence.

Life wasn’t going to just make this decision for me, as much as I wished it would.

I knew the right thing to do. Of course I did. I should end things with Calum, confess to Jason, beg for his forgiveness and spend the rest of my life trying to prove my love for him. Or, at the very least, I should end things with Calum, hope Jason never found out and carry on like nothing had ever happened.

It was hardly the worst outcome in the world, being married to a man I loved.

And yet, even knowing that, I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing Calum again, never looking into those eyes, never joking with him, laughing at his easy wit, being swept onto his bed.

I’d fallen in love with him, and I didn’t know how to reverse that.

And honestly … I didn’t want to.

Chapter Four

‘How are things with you? It’s been too long!’ Alex said, taking a sip of prosecco.

I raised an eyebrow, wondering what I could say without slipping my secret to the woman on the stool next to me.

‘Uhm …’ I began. A statement rather than the beginning of a sentence.

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, it’s fine. I’m fine.’ I exhaled deeply and watched my breath ripple across the pink surface of my cocktail. I avoided Alex’s eyes. She knew me too well, and I couldn’t risk her suspecting that I wasn’t telling her the whole truth. ‘Well, it’s just Jason and I …’

‘Are you guys OK?’

‘I guess. I mean—’

‘What’s he done?’ she interrupted, immediately launching into the mode she operated in best: defensive and aggressive. ‘If he’s cheating, I will bloody kill him.’ She slapped her hand on the bar, drawing disapproving looks from the couple next to us, who were clearly struggling through a first date.

‘No, no.’ I forced a laugh, equally embarrassed and pleased by Alex’s ferocity. ‘It’s nothing like that. Oh, it’s just so … well, I guess being married can just sometimes seem … restrictive. You know?’

I wasn’t lying. Not exactly. But I couldn’t even gather my jumble of emotions into a coherent thought. It would be impossible to explain to Alex without giving the affair away.

‘Bethany,’ Alex said, her tone lower and calmer now, ‘you and Jason are perfect together. You’re in love, you know you are. You’re just going through a bad patch. How long have you been married?’

‘Coming up to seven years.’ I drained my glass.

‘See? The Seven Year Itch. That’s all it is,’ declared Alex with an astonishing amount of confidence for someone who had absolutely no experience in navigating long-term relationships.

Our waiter sidled up beside Alex, making no effort to disguise his up-and-down gaze, before placing a plate of chips in front of us. Alex, who used her tall, hourglass figure as a kind of weapon, winked at the muscular young man and grabbed a chip, somehow managing to turn the act of eating it into a sort of foreplay. After he’d walked off, she turned her attention back to me while taking another swig from her glass.

‘You’re probably right,’ I lied, selecting a chip and dipping it in the tiny metal tub of ketchup. ‘I guess I just see you having fun dating, getting to sleep with different guys … it just seems exciting, and I’ve never had that. Jason was the first guy I ever slept with. The problem with marrying your first love, I guess. I feel like I missed out on all the fun that comes along with being single.’

‘God!’ Alex said dramatically. ‘The grass is always greener, Bethany. Do you have any idea how much I’d love to be married? Dating is the worst. Seriously. For starters, the sex is usually too drunken to be good. And it’s not like I feel awesome for it the next day. More often than not I wake up guilty. I mean, it can be fun, I’m not going to lie about that. But I’d much rather be in your shoes. I feel like my ovaries are about to shrivel up and I don’t even have a boyfriend.’

‘Yeah, I guess the grass really is greener. I’m trapped and . . .